


Difference in Degrees

by maebmad (maebiwill)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Empress Padmé Amidala, Sith Anakin, Sith Empire, Sith Obi-Wan, Slow Build, Sort of? - Freeform, The Dark Side of the Force, These things take time, is used, more like, of a sort, padme isnt palpatine, she hasn't been planning this for years
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-18
Updated: 2018-11-26
Packaged: 2019-04-04 01:57:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14009667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maebiwill/pseuds/maebmad
Summary: “Most of the evil in this world is done by people with good intentions.”     --   T.S. EliotAn anthology of stories in a universe that is both better and worse than the one we know, in various ways. It is difficult to sort each part into good and bad, after all, when everything is so often both. Evil is not created overnight. Empires are not built in a day. Good intentions don't guarantee righteous acts.





	1. Padme

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously not my characters, just playing with the possible.
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [theresmagicinthat](theresmagicinthat.tumblr.com) and yell about them with me please!

Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it had, to find she could hold a sway with the people of what had once been a Republic.

There was precedent for it, after all. It wasn’t that long ago that her own planet had nearly suspended its own democracy just to give her an extra term as queen. Padme had been born a leader, had cultivated that. She had been groomed to be one all her life, and she knew this, she had been told this. This, right here, was where she was meant to be, with the eyes of nearly the entire galaxy upon her. Every moment of her life, it seemed, had been prelude to this one. So it shouldn’t have surprised her, not really, to watch it unfold before her. 

Still, when she had announced the intention of Naboo to secede from what was now only the thinnest veneer of a Republic, it was as unexpected as it was enthralling to listen to the cheers, to watch other governments cry solidarity and speak their own intentions to follow. It became a chain, a falling object, picking up momentum as it went along, as system upon system spoke out. Padme felt her breath hitch, then release, come out shaky and nervous, but she kept her shoulders back, her chin up, and projected outward every bit the stalwart queen that she did not feel inward.

It was something momentous. It felt like something that would ripple throughout the galaxy, through years to come. She felt simultaneously very small, and very large as exclamations of dissent merged with the cheers. There would be no turning back from this. If there was to be a Republic, and if Naboo were to be a part of it again, at least one of them would have to be entirely different from what they now were. Padme Amidala did not intend to be the first one to bend, nor the first to break.

* * *

The sun was nearly setting on Naboo when the ships arrived at the agreed meeting place. All of them had been eager to leave Coruscant after their declarations, fearful of the repercussions, no one keen to linger in what was now a foreign territory, so they landed only shortly after Padme had, in solemn waves of processions.

They allowed themselves some time before calling a meeting, allowed for thoughts to simmer and anxiety to build, despite their best efforts. It was for the better, Padme knew, staring at her hands and willing them to stop shaking. They were politicians, officials of varying titles and qualifications, and none of them were stranger to hard decisions -- the fact that they were here proved that -- but to move directly from one galaxy-altering choice to another would strain their capability for poise in the face of adversity. It was straining Padme's. She'd been the catalyst for this. If this went wrong, if people were slaughtered and a false Republic reigned at the end of all of this, it would be because of her. It would weigh on her shoulders forever, assuming she'd even live to see the sour end of it.

When someone broke down and called them to action, and everyone presumably made their way to the conference room, Padme took just a minute longer alone to look at the mirror, at the white paint on her counter, and consider everything she was doing.

Painting the face white was a tradition of the Naboo people. It showed the queen’s intention to honor the history and culture of her planet. It had felt so important to her as a child, to make herself inscrutable, to be part of that noble tradition. It had made her look older, too. She was not a child when she had the symbol of generations of leaders on her own face, could not be looked down upon for her youth.

Padme felt old enough without it now, felt the weight of years of playing the fool, believing lies and deceptions coming from the mouths of those who had been slave to their greed and lust for power. She had years of being a queen, being a senator behind her, where before she’d only had the faith of her people. She was not so young now, did not need paint to feel in control, to feel worthy of having influence. She might want it to hide just how much she didn't know what she was doing. Padme might as well still be fourteen years old, faced with seige and conflict for all she was prepared. 

She picked up the delicate pot of paint, stared at it for entirely too long, and placed it back upon the countertop. Padme left her face bare.

Their would be time for standing on ceremony later, would come a time for honoring their past. Now, though, was not the time for looking back. This was about pushing forward into new territory, into the future of the galaxy. Padme entered the room, the train of her gown trailing along the floor, her face bare, and set determinedly.  


She would not hide behind decoys any longer, either. Former and again Queen Padme Naberrie Amidala of Naboo had already faced the worst the galaxy had to offer, and she would not flinch should she come across it again. Calm settled over her. Breath entered her lungs with the sharp sting that might have come from cold, had it not been a seasonable summer day. Everything felt clear and easily delineated. She knew right from wrong, good from evil, action from inaction. She knew what she was up against, and knew that she had to win, knew how far she was willing to go to do so. 

“Senators,” She began as she took her place at the round table. Where before there had been broken conversations, whispered doubt and trepidation, now there was nervous silence as every gaze fell onto her. She took another chilled breath and continued. “Representatives of sovereign systems. It is in a time of grieving that we gather now.”

The room stayed quiet, the air barely moved by breath or breeze.

“Today, we mourn the Republic.” Folding her hands in front of her, she stared out at each of the faces around her, taking comfort in the familiar ones, taking pride in those unknown. “For though it exists in name, all of us sit here today because we hold a shared belief. The belief that the very government we have held dear and upheld for decades, for centuries, has been twisted. It has been twisted and rent beyond the point of recognizability by greed, by pride, by apathy for the people we represent. The Republic as we knew it, and as we’d hoped to know it, is dead."

Padme breathed deep, thought she could feel every particle in her lungs, imagined she could feel the rush of blood through the veins of everyone around her, the pounding of their pulse echoed in her own. She felt like a collapsing star, like a point of infinite gravity, pulling every molecule around her in, inviting them to become part of her, to merge. The odd notion was not dispelled by the others, leant forwards, stretching to see her, to hear her, to know what to do next. 

“It is also a day of mourning for my predecessor, Queen Apailana.” Padme could see the young girl’s face behind her eyelids, the pallor of her skin from both makeup and loss of blood. She’d been only twelve -- younger than Padme herself in the position -- but she was as shrewd as she was compassionate. Padme had been fond of her as much as she admired her. She'd gone still, eyes glassy, but she was still warm when she'd been pulled out of Padme's arms. The phantom of her, brilliant and kind and wronged so terribly, surrounded Padme, threatened to suffocate her and finish the job the assassin hadn't quite managed.“She was killed but a week ago in an attack. An attack we now know was done at the behest of the Chancellor, and was intended for both her and I.”

It was not new information. Padme had presented the evidence before the Senate before she had announced their secession. Still, it sent murmurs around the table, hanging somewhere between disbelief and resignation.

Perhaps, if it had been someone else -- someone else killed, someone else the killer -- Padme might have called for a trial, tried to oust the Chancellor and return to business as usual. But it was not someone else. It was a young outspoken girl much in the way Padme had been, and it was Palpatine, a man Padme had known since she was a child. It was someone who, she had become increasingly aware over the past several months, held a large part of the Republic senate, and the Separatists in the palms of his hands. Padme clenched her own hands, let manicured nails dig crescents of skin into herself. Let them bleed, she thought. It would not be the first blood on her hands, and given the direction this would inevitably head, it would certainly not be the last. In war, soldiers and innocents alike died in their own blood, leaders died drowning in the sea of everyone's, as was their due.

Apailana had been new enough that she'd only had her own, and Padme was glad of that, if nothing else. Padme would take the blame that might have one day belonged to the young girl. She would take it gladly, and make sure that everyone who had a single drop of the young queen's death on them would not get the chance to accumulate more. She wouldn't have been able to do that from a Senate seat, couldn't have found justice where it did not exist.

If she had brought it to a trial, she would not have won. She would have been discredited, somehow, or killed before she could make a convincing case. Apailana would not get her justice, and Padme would be dead or worse.

This, though. This, she could do, she had done. Padme would continue to fight in any way she knew how. She knew how to do this, she’d been born for this, after all.

Padme raised a hand for silence among the room's occupants, and it fell in accordance.

“This is not a day for sadness, though. Nor is it a day for regrets.” She said, though she herself was full to the brim with both. Leaders like her did not get the luxury of being free of hypocrisy. So often they had to act against themselves, contradict their nature to achieve their ends. Padme pictured Apailana’s face, her wide eyes as she gasped for her last breaths. She promised the girl that there would be peace, things would be made right. For those willing to make the sacrifice of themselves, peace was something that was worth being fought for, as counter to itself as it felt. 

Padme raised the glass in front of her, matching with those in front of everyone, and strengthened her voice. _Appear strong when you are your weakest,_ she'd been told when being trained for her term as monarch. _Appear weak when you are strong._ She knew which she was, right now, and which she needed to seem. “This is a day of celebration, as it will be for years to come. For today, we have not let our beliefs be strangled by that which we once trusted.

“All of you have taken your convictions, your hopes for a better galaxy, and you have acted with them. You have each eschewed passivity when faced with brutality, denied idleness when faced with despotism. This is why I say now, with certainty, I know that the future we will create shall stand strong and true in the face of injustice and tyranny." She watched each of them raise their glasses, watched the last rays of sunlight distort through their surfaces. It was a disquietingly simple sight for a moment of such import. "Today, we see the birth of the Alliance of Sovereign Systems. We stand together, united in our desire to better the lives of those who have put their faith in our hands.”

They saluted and drank. No one commented if anyone's gulp of the alcohol was a bit too large to be proper. Padme only sipped, knowing there would be time later to dull the roar of thoughts in her head, but she still welcomed the burn in her throat. It sang in harmony with the one under her skin, in her veins, the pit of her stomach, dripping down to her feet. 

The meeting proceeded in higher spirits than it had started. It was disjointed in places, almost hostile in others as the disparate governments tried to find their places among each other, but the reason all of them were there loomed overhead, kept everything under relative control. There would be no chance to go back to the Republic, now. The choices had been made, the cliff jumped from. Each of them had denounced the corruption of the senate, the cruelty of the Chancellor. To return would be to become a pariah, to be hunted, to point a blaster at their own chest and place the Republic's finger on the trigger. Getting along in the face of that did not seem such an enormous task as it might have once been. Padme let the conversations, the items of discourse wash over her like tides, ebbing and flowing and making little difference to the shore, other than to drag its surface into smooth uniformity.

The sun was well past the horizon when it began to wind down, when fatigue pulled at each of them enough to leave them not so upright in their seats, to make their tongues as sluggish as their thoughts. There was little point in continuing on, but there was still a single issue to be brought forth.

A vote was called to elect a leader for their new collective. Padme said nothing. It was unanimous in her favor regardless.

She accepted graciously, and wondered if they truly thought she was the best suited for it, or if they knew the target was already on her back, and they wanted it to remain there, lest it travel to one of their own. It didn’t really matter in the end, she thought. It suited her own goals as well, and Padme would not abuse power given to her, only use what was given to her freely to help those who needed it. It would have been nice to see Bail at the helm, or even Bo-Katan, well versed in the philosophy of fighting, but if she could not trust herself with power, she could not trust anyone. If it was placed in her hands, she would not shove it away.

Sabe moved up beside her, handed her a datapad, and Padme couldn’t help her purse of lips as she read the document in front of her.

“Fellow representatives,” She called, gaining their attentions again. “I am sure it will surprise none of you to know that we are now actively at war with the Republic. I imagine they claim we threw the first stone. It hardly matter, though. The Chancellor has signed the order, and it is so, whether we like it or not, now."

The room broke into cries of dismay, but none of shock. They'd all known what it would mean to leave.

"I suggest you return to your systems with immediacy," She told them, feeling the headache she'd been ignoring all evening force its way back into the foreground of her thoughts. "Prepare any forces you have. We're at war, we need to act accordingly. We are never as strong as we are together, so let us part ways united.”

The next few hours were chaos, as ships departed and plans were made. Bail left with a smile, and a friendly hand on her arm. Young Riyo Chuchi gave her a hug before taking to her own ship. Padme did not know what the future would bring, if she would ever see them again. For the first time that day, Padme felt a chill down her spine as she thought about what she had done.

She thought of the planets she’d now put at odds with a powerful army, the millions of lives she was putting on the line. They would be the blood spilled and the only hands they would be on were hers.

But it had not been just her to make the decision. No, it hadn't been just Naboo. It was system upon system. She was not alone in this fight, and there were some things worth fighting for, worth dying for.

The last ship left the surface, and Padme pulled out her datapad. It was not yet a time to be frivolous with duty, to let herself be a person again before she was a queen. She had messages to send, and, all things willing, she might have a Jedi or two on her side at the end of this.

If not, she would win this war with her bare hands if she needed.

A notification appeared before she could send any, from the private source that she knew by now meant it was from Ahsoka.

_501st is clear. Moving on to 212th and others._

Padme smiled. She’d do it with her bare hands, but it seemed she wouldn’t have to -- not from the very start at least.

She looked out at the silhouettes of ships against the night sky, becoming harder and harder to find as they left the atmosphere.

She wondered if history would look back and smile upon her kindly, or if she would be seen as just another politician too eager to gain power, too reluctant to give it up. She decided ultimately that she rather didn’t care what history would have to say, so long as she did right by those under her now.  


Perhaps she would have both. History was so often influenced by those who were victorious. Wars suddenly became righteous crusades under a pen sided with the winner. It wasn’t right, perhaps, but it was true. Padme did not intend to surrender anything. If the way the events were told later were influenced by this, it would not be the greatest evil perpetrated during this era. The honor of that title got to be bestowed upon the oppression she was opposing, and those who created it.

Padme Amidala, Queen of Naboo, head of the Council of Sovereign Systems, did not intend to lose this fight. Let future history make of that what it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> So she's not an empress yet, probably won't be for a bit, and won't consider herself one until long after she is, but important first steps have to be made. First steps like... being given a semblance of direct control over the governments of about half of what the Republic had been. Her election to the post was partially faith that she would handle it well given she'd kinda spearheaded the whole secession thing, and part everyone else wanting to not be seen as the figurehead of the movement, and thus target for assassination. The separatists will come into play later since their goals sort of align with the Alliance's, but not entirely given that they're under Palpatine's control.  
> The jedi's path through this will be similar in its lack of immediacy, and will definitely be less overt sith, and more gradually greater use of the dark side. Possible schism? We'll see. Future chapters.  
> There is no planned update schedule for this fic. If I get inspiration for how something will go, I'll write and post it, but it's doubtful that will have any sort of regularity. if there are prompts within this universe you'd like to see, or questions about how they got here (will explore more in other chapters i guess?) then comment or come yell at me on my tumblr, which is, again, here: [theresmagicinthat](theresmagicinthat.tumblr.com)


	2. Anakin

The first time, Padme came to him, and she was frantic.

She’d been shaking, her face flushed and eyes wide, and Anakin had been prepared to find whatever it was that had caused her to feel like this and rid the universe of it as quickly as possible.

Voice trembling and eyes red, verging on hysterics, she’d told him everything.

The first time, Padme came to him, and he hadn’t believed her.

It had been almost a relief to hear what was troubling her, because Anakin knew it to be unequivocally untrue. The Chancellor would never have done something like that, would have no reason to. Padme was upset, but upset over a misunderstanding, and that was something that could be easily fixed.

Sitting on her couch, overlooking the busy Coruscanti skyline, he had rubbed her back soothingly as her breath hitched with half-suppressed sobs, trying to calm her. “Padme, I’m sure it’s not what you think.”

She’d gone stiff against his side. “Anakin-”

“You’ve known the Chancellor since you were a child,” He reasoned, “He practically mentored you. Why would he be trying to kill you now?”

“You don’t believe me,” She sat up straight, looking at him, shock and hurt plastered across her face. “I can’t- You think I’m lying.”

He denied it immediately, vehemently, but it mattered little to her.

“Oh stars,” Her voice came out airy, “Of all people.”

“Padme, think about it,” Anakin said, “Why would Palpatine-”

“I don’t know!” She cried, “But I know that he did. Why would I accuse him if I wasn’t sure?”

“I don’t know,” He admitted, at a loss, “You were nearly killed, Padme. Apailana was. Sabe got hurt, it makes sense that you’re upset, but you trust the Chancellor. I trust him.”

Her eyes widened further, and she looked at him like she were seeing him for the first time. “It’s about you. Stars, it’s all about _you_ , isn’t it? He doesn’t want you to believe me.”

“What are you talking about?” Concern built up in his chest to the point of bursting. “You realize how crazy this sounds, right?”

The pause that hung between them lasted entirely too long, and Padme’s eyes never broke from his face, like she thought whatever answers she was looking for would appear there. Her eyes flashed the way they did whenever she made a decision, resolved herself to a certain path.

“Yes,” She said slowly, like the words took effort to appear. All of the tension fled the room, but it felt so unbearably empty instead. “You’re right. It’s ridiculous. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was saying.”

The sentences were clipped and short, but not angry.

“Are-” The sudden shift had thrown him off balance. “Are you sure?”

“Of course, Ani.” She smiled, and Anakin hated it because it looked like a mask, like some version of Naboo makeup meant to obscure her intentions. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

He didn’t believe she meant it for a second, about abandoning the idea -- the change of heart was too abrupt. Padme generally came to realizations slowly, with research and diligence -- but he was ready to latch onto any opportunity to get control over this situation, let the panic be leached away and leave the rest of the afternoon amenable to their whims.

So they moved on to having lunch, and she listened to him talk about his latest mission. For the entirety of it, Padme looked as though she were eavesdropping on a conversation occurring entirely in her head. Her eyes didn’t leave his face, her lips were curved up at the corners, and she nodded and added comments at the appropriate moments of his harrowing tale. It felt like she were following a script, hitting all of her cues and playing her part perfectly, like some invisible hand directed the scene they were in.

Anakin usually left a visit with Padme feeling alive, rejuvenated. He left that day feeling unbalanced and agitated.

* * *

When Chancellor Palpatine invited him for a visit later that week, for the first time, Anakin’s skin prickled, and Padme’s words lingered in his mind, the cool touch of them spreading like frost on a window, in thick, curling patterns. They spread like ivy, digging their roots into every thought, leaves sprouting and casting shade onto each perception and sensation.

_It’s about you. Stars, it’s all about you._

But it was absurd. Padme herself had eventually admitted it.

Anakin made his way to Palpatine’s office, warning bells ringing in his mind, a keening distress over some unseen peril, and he couldn’t silence them, no matter how he tried. Even the seconds passing as he stood outside the door, waiting to be let in, seemed to hold a menacing weight to them, as if he were entering a trial, or beyond that, an execution.

“Dear boy!” The Chancellor exclaimed on his entrance, moving over to clasp his hands affectionately. He was as cheerful as ever, and attentive to Anakin and his slightest changes of mood the way Anakin had never realized he always was. “It is good to see you back, and in good health.”

Anakin responded in kind, and hoped his words didn’t sound too wooden. It felt like he’d hewn them straight from a tree anyways, and was handing over chips of bark in place of his own side of a dialogue. If the Chancellor noticed, he made no comment, and placed a kindly hand on Anakin’s back in a way that might have once been paternal, but now felt like they way one might hold a dog steady to fit a collar.

It was like his whole perspective had shifted, like the room had turned on its head, leaving him in freefall. The creeping fingers of doubt had sunk their way into his thoughts, licked at the bottom of his mind like fire.

Where the Chancellor’s voice had always seemed calm and smooth, it now sounded false and constructed. Where he’d always been sympathetic, he now seemed to simper and coo with sickly sweet intent. Every word had a purpose behind it, every movement meant to lull him, like a desert viper shrinking back, just to coil for attack.

Anakin left, feeling uneasy and sick, wondering if it were just some trick of the mind, or if the Chancellor had always acted like this, sounded like this. Had there been some turning point, some shift he had missed, or had he been blind to it since the very beginning? He didn’t know which might be better, which might be worse.

* * *

The second time, he was the one who went to Padme, and this time, he did believe her.

She laid out the evidence in front of him again, and together, they poured over it, examining every facet like inspecting a gemstone for flaws.

The third time, he went to her, and they painted a fresco of possible futures. Together they plucked out the details of the one they wanted, walked backwards down the path that led there, until they ended where they were now.

She kissed him long and slow before he left her apartments that night, the fear and trepidation mingling in their breaths like a mist. Her eyes were shining, but he said nothing, knowing he had no comfort to give, that false reassurance wasn’t what was needed, and gave her only another lingering brush of lips and hands, like a silent promise that they would not be the last.

* * *

He watched the holonews as everything slotted into place, as something was set into motion that could never again be halted.

Anakin felt cold. He always felt cold. He came from the desert, from searing heat and blinding light, and everything beside it turned into a comforting chill and subdued glow by compare. This now felt like ice and snow and frigid winds that didn’t happen on Coruscant.

Padme left Coruscant, and the Republic, but she did not leave alone. Anakin wasn’t comforted by this, felt the itch, the dragging magnetic pull to be by her side, to ensure she’d be safe.

That wasn’t the plan, though, so Anakin stayed at the temple, and waited patiently, without fear or anxiousness -- finally the epitome of a good Jedi at the end.

When Obi-Wan exited the council meeting, he eyed Anakin warily before sharing what had been concluded.

The Jedi would remain with the Republic. What little was left of it.

Anakin gave a short nod, made a short detour into the clone barracks to share a few, brief words with Rex and Cody, eyed the fresh lacerations by their temples, and then made his final exit from the temple, letting each clattering footstep down the long, front stairway ring with the finality they were weighted by.

If he looked out at the skyline, illuminated red by the setting sun behind him, he could pick out the senate building, the window into the office of the Chancellor, and he could picture walking in, being greeted by the man with a benign smile, and gutting him on his lightsaber.

How many years of deception had he been subjected to? How many attempts on Padme’s life had been orchestrated by him, had nearly taken her from him?

Anakin realized he’d been frozen half-way down the steps, eyes fixed on the building in the distance, and it was only Padme’s voice in his ears that allowed his gaze to drag away, for his legs to move him again down each stair.

 _The only way to beat him is to let him think he’s already won._ She said to him. _Let him think we’ve played our hand. Appear weak when you are strong._

Anakin thought of Obi-Wan back inside the temple, felt the urge again to tell him everything, to beg him to come along.

He couldn’t. Not yet. Obi-Wan was a loyal Jedi. He was far better than Anakin would ever have been, and everyone knew it, the Chancellor knew it. If Obi-Wan left now, it would be odd enough to warrant looking into. They couldn’t afford that kind of scrutiny.

Anakin leaving wouldn’t be alarming. He was never the Jedi he should have been.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan called from the top of the stairs, frustrated, and half-jogging to catch up with him. Anakin winced, having hoped that he could slip away without goodbyes, without deceit, even if only by omission.

Obi-Wan asked him where he was going. Anakin did not face him, but told the truth when he said Naboo. The pursuing footsteps faltered, and Anakin closed his eyes, knowing that no matter how the cut happened, this would wound both of them until they met again. If they did.

“We remain loyal to the Republic, Anakin.” Obi-Wan said sharply. “To democracy!”

“Those aren’t the same thing anymore.” Anakin said, not breaking his stride. The politics of the matter didn’t matter much to him. He’d grown up a slave, then a knight. Neither had afforded much room for holding strong viewpoints on matters of the like. He would say anything to cut his tether, though, to not be pulled in two very opposite directions, and feel as though he were tearing down the middle. “You can’t remain loyal to both at the same time. I don’t care which, really, but I know where I’m going.”

“The council does not believe that is true. Just because Padme-”

“Maybe it is about Padme,” Anakin snapped, finally stopping and turning to face his old Master. “But I trust her above anyone else to know what is just, what is right.”

“Above me?”

Anakin hesitated with his answer. He did trust Obi-Wan. He trusted him with his life, with nearly every piece of him. But Obi-Wan’s blind spot had always been the council. He had always placed too much faith in their judgments, had always been too quick to jump whenever they told him to. It was what Anakin and Padme were counting on.

He didn’t want to say it, though, wanted to tell Obi-Wan that he trusted him above any other Jedi, any other man. It was like a duel, but verbal, and with Obi-Wan unaware that a fight was even happening. He had to follow through with his thrust to make it count at all.

“Right now? Yes.”

Obi-Wan flinched back, and to anyone else he would look as stoic as ever. Anakin was not anyone, and could see the hurt in his eyes.

“If you leave, you cannot come back,” Obi-Wan said, and Anakin nearly bristled before he realized it was not a warning, but an actuality, colored with sorrow, an anticipatory grief of a loss that was in the process of happening as they spoke. “Anakin, please.”

“Half the Republic is gone, Master,” Anakin said, continuing onwards. He knew his part well, studied it as any actor had to in order to fit their role. He knew how this scene played out. “And it was the half with any sort of conscience. Padme, Bail, Bo-Katan, Riyo Chuchi, they’re all leaving. Whose interests will you be serving now?”

“The Republic’s, Anakin.” Obi-Wan repeated, jaw set. “As I always have. As I always will.”

Anakin’s chest panged, and he stopped again, but did not turn to face him. Anakin hadn’t realized it before, but, despite everything, in irregard to plans and set courses, a part of him had hoped that if he left, Obi-Wan would follow.

It seemed that wouldn’t be the case -- that if Anakin left now, it would be the end of them. _The Team_ , they’d been dubbed, splintering down the middle

“I think that means this is goodbye.”

He heard Obi-Wan’s intake of breath, felt a hand on his shoulder. And there it was, the desire to stay. As much as he knew that his decision was made, another piece of him longed to stay by Obi-Wan’s side.

Obi-Wan moved down the steps to face him, and Anakin unclipped his lightsaber from his belt to press to Obi-Wan’s chest. “You should take this to the council, then. I’m not a Jedi anymore.”

Obi-Wan just stared at it, took it uncomprehendingly. Before Anakin could move away, Obi-Wan shoved it back.

“Keep it.” He murmured, eyes roving over Anakin’s face, drinking in every line and angle of him in the light of a Coruscanti dusk. “The galaxy is more dangerous than ever. This weapon is your life. I would rather both remain with you.”

Anakin’s voice nearly caught in his throat, but he clipped the weapon back to his belt obligingly, letting the fingers of his flesh hand grip it like an anchor. “Thank you, Obi-Wan.”

“I wish you would stay.” He said, seemingly lost for any other words.

“I wish you would come with.” Anakin replied easily, the smile he gave shakey with the welling tears he would not allow to fall.

That was all that lay between them now -- irreconcilable wishes, a chasm of desires that would not merge together again. Obi-Wan’s hand moved from Anakin’s shoulder to cradle the side of his neck, his jaw, the tips of his fingers resting gently at Anakin’s nape. Anakin couldn’t entirely resist the urge to lean into the touch.

“May the Force be with you.” Obi-Wan said, as the last glints of sun reflected off the buildings, letting the illumination around them shift from orange to red to the blue-white artificial lights of evening.

“May the Force be with you.” Anakin whispered, and pulled away slowly, leaving Obi-Wan and the Jedi temple behind him without another glance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!! I'm back :)  
> I kinda left civilization for a week there for break and had no computer access, and an excess of story ideas with nowhere to go, but here we are, chapter 2!!  
> I said this story wouldn't have a regular update schedule and I'm sticking with that. I have snippets for future chapters drafted, but i don't know which one will be next, much less when it will be done. Thank you for your patience, though <3 I love this story and want to continue it as I continue to get inspiration  
> As always, please feel free to comment with whatever, and I will respond at some point or another. If you notice any grammatical errors or typos, lmk please!  
> Side note: I am considering doing a podfic for this. I love audiobooks and listening to podfics because i can have trouble focusing on just reading fic, and I usually read my chapters aloud anyways before posting, so I can see if sentences flow together well and stuff, so it might as well be something, right?? If this is something you'd like to see, tell me. if not, it might exist regardless  
> Much love, always <333


	3. Rex

Rex only realized he’d raised his hand to the puckered skin on the side of his head when he heard footsteps approaching him from down the hallway, and he jerked it back down to his side.

He’d been doing that near constantly over the last week, fingers drifting up to run over the small cut that would soon fade into nothing more than a pale, unobtrusive scar. Any time he wasn’t holding something, or actively at work, he found himself reaching up again, exploring the cut as it healed slowly.

It was so strange, so incongruous, that it could be so small. It felt like it should have cost much more than it had, like he should have had to bargain half his soul away just to have it done.

But it hadn’t. The surgery had taken twenty minutes, had been paid for by Senator Amidala, and in the end, years from now, he might not even be able to distinguish where it had been done from the rest of his skin and hair and scars.

At his side, his hand proceeded to fall into its other habit -- rubbing at the smooth chip that rested in the pocket of his uniform. It was small, too. Unsettlingly so, for something that might have once been able to destroy every part of who he knew himself to be with a few words.

He pretended to scrutinize the datapad he’d been holding thoughtlessly, as whoever it was that had brought his attention back to the corridor around him drew closer.

Eyes focused down to the latest message from Commander Tano, open on the face of the pad. The words, though heavily coded, felt like a claxon, signaling to everyone that might come into the vicinity that he was a traitor, and so he quickly closed it as well, leaving his report from their latest mission in its place.

“Interesting reading?” Cody said, stepping up beside him, and Rex’s muscles tensed a little, unsure if this would be better or worse than it having been some stranger, some brother he didn’t know.

“No.” He said, feeling like he were standing at the edge of a cliff, like the man beside him could be the one who could decide whether to pull him back, or to shove him over the rim. “Just a report of a transport coming in.”

Cody inclined his head, considering the words carefully, hearing the half-truth for what it was. Rex wasn’t trying to deceive him, though, so he tried to push away the part of his mind that was always running through strategies, that was telling him how, exactly, he could take his brother down should the need arise.

It was the simple kind of lie that was meant to be caught, to be noticed and noted, but not challenged.

“You’re going through with this, then.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of observation, a grim twist to his lips.

Rex tried to ignore the apprehension building up pressure in his chest, threatening to push the air from his lungs and leave him unable to breathe. Nervousness did not come naturally to him. Clones were not generally predisposed to fear or doubt. They were decisive and proactive, Rex even more so than many, he knew.

They also weren’t predisposed to turning their backs on the causes they were bred to live and fight and die for. Perhaps it was only fitting that the two anomalies went hand in hand.

He thumbed at the weight in his pocket again, imagining that he could feel the odd ridges and grooves of it that he knew were there, but were too small for him to distinguish.

“Yes.” Rex said finally, and relaxed as the more familiar heft of determination shoved aside some of the anxiety. It was the first time he’d spoken it aloud, he realized, to someone not involved. This decision was made now, and existed outside of himself. It was easier to follow through with a choice once it had been made. “You’re going to stay, then.”

“Yes.” Cody echoed his own resolve. “I can’t give up on the Republic while it still exists.”

Rex just grunted an understanding, knowing already that there would be no changing Cody’s mind, even if he had wanted to.

He didn’t want to. Rex wanted to be wrong. He wanted to fly off into the galaxy only to find out he was mislead and misguided and there had never been a danger or an ultimate evil pulling the strings, and he wanted to learn that he’d been hasty and paranoid.

He wanted to believe that the chips grown into the brain tissue of every brother in the building and out on the front really were there for some sort of aggression control, and not a time bomb that would leave them dead in every way except physical. 

He ran his thumb over the transparisteel again, and thought he could feel the skin of his fingertip catch on the protruding edges that would have connected to synapses and neurons.

“Besides,” Cody continued, unbothered by the things that were only in Rex’s mind. “Your Commander and General are out there. Mine will still be here.”\ 

Rex grimaced at the thought of General Kenobi in the middle of Coruscant if it all went wrong.

“If it’s all true…” Cody sighed. “He’s going to need good men at his back. I won’t fail him. Not now.”

Rex’s eyes flickered involuntarily to the matching cut on the side of Cody’s head, and he gave his brother a sharp nod of acknowledgment.

If General Skywalker had stayed, if the Commander were still with the Order, he couldn’t say that his decision would be any different.

What would that reality have even meant? Rex might still have had the chip in his head, might have followed his General for years, loyal and true, until the day that he would have cut him down without a second thought, Commander Tano following after.

None of them really knew how the chips worked, anyways. Rex might have screamed in his head as his hands fired a blaster at their backs, or he might be so lost he wouldn’t have known what he was doing. It might have warped him so badly that it would be something he wanted to do.

He grimaced, pushing the image from his head. “If you’re with him, he’ll always have at least one good man behind him.”

“He’ll have more than that” Cody raised his chin, some of his stern pride leaking into his voice. “You and your General saw to that.”

“Mainly his wife.” Rex admitted wryly.

“Kriffing Jedi.” Cody grinned back, relief between them palpable as they fell into the familiar cadence of ribbing each other and their officers. “All those rules for themselves just to follow none of them.”

Rex rubbed at the back of his neck during the following silence, smile slowly falling from his face as the easy camaraderie drained from the room almost immediately, leaving only the business they had to get through.

“Your good men also staying then?” Rex asked the commander, not willing to look him in the eye as he thought of what the future might hold for them both.

“Some, at least.” If Cody took offense to his demeanor, it didn’t show in his voice. “That’s why I’m here actually. 

Rex hummed the assumed question.

“My men are clear, and a few want to go with you.”

“How many?”

“Just Crys and Trapper.”

He breathed out, long and slow, trying to piece together the logistics in his mind.

“Alright.” He ran his thumb over the chip in his pocket, and tried to make himself feel calm. “Let’s do this then.”

 

* * *

 

Word was passed quietly, only to those most trusted at first. They could start small. They could grow, if they had the time, but it wouldn’t do to risk it all in one fell swoop. 

The 501st and 212th were all clear of their chips, but the struggle laid in where they should go from there. Wolffe was the first they confided in, and he absorbed the information with gruff stoicism, his damaged, milky eye pinning Rex down for what felt like ages before the Commander promised only to speak to the men of his battalion. 

After nearly a week of whispers, of tense shoulders at the slightest sound, of the nagging certainty that someone had surely spoken out, had turned them in, Rex stood before a room of a meager 50 brothers, and let his eyes scan across them. Some faces he knew, and others he didn’t, and each unfamiliar one sent a prick of fear through his spine, accompanied by an opposing flash of hope. They’d made it this far. They’d always pushed forwards, and would continue to, until that time they couldn’t any longer. If they reached that point, it wouldn’t really matter anymore anyways. Rex inhaled sharply, exhaled slowly, before stepping forwards and calling the men to attention.

He wished Cody could have joined him here, could stand beside him now as they always had when faced with impossible odds, but no. If all of this went wrong, if they’d placed their wagers and lost it all, Cody needed to be clear of the fallout. Rex would be gone, would be far enough away by the time everything went sideways that he wouldn’t be dealt the consequences, but Cody would. Cody needed to be able to help General Kenobi, if in the end they failed.

The words came out of Rex stiffly, rehearsed, like a mission briefing. The Chancellor, the chips, the possibility for another life, if only they sacrificed everything they knew and believed.

“My men and I are departing this evening for Naboo.” Rex said, trying to find some indicator in his audience as to what they felt, tried to figure out how urgently they needed to flee, or whether he could deliver to Queen Amidala the news that she should anticipate another transport in the coming weeks. “We will be aiding the Alliance in their fight, and if you decide to turn tail and tell the council what I’ve told you, anyone who might be held responsible will already be gone. If anyone here chooses to do that, or chooses to pretend that they never heard anything in the first place, I will not blame you, and you should feel no shame. These are not choices we were ever prepared to make. These are not choices we should ever have had to make. But-”

The air felt too still. It was stifling and hot and Rex wanted to choke on it, wanted to burst outside and breathe cool evening air. But he couldn’t. Rex had his duty, and he would see it through to the end.

“If you wish to join us,” He continued, voice steadier than he felt. “We would welcome any brother to our ranks. We would welcome you all.”

The room was still, and their were entirely too many eyes on him. The room was still, up until the moment it wasn’t. One brother stood abruptly, chair scraping across the floor behind him. The brother looked young, and Rex did not know him, could see no marks of rank on his clothing, nor any marks of battles fought on his skin.

“What does it matter?” The cadet sneered, and it was only years of training up shinies that let Rex here the fear beneath the anger. “Republic, alliance, seppie. They all just want us to be cannon fodder on their front lines. We’re as dispensable as droids, makes war easier for them.”

“Not here.” Rex told him, letting his voice ring through the room. “You’ll have a choice if you go. Everyone will have the choice. It’s not my nature to back down from a fight, but -”

“‘Course it’s not.” The trooper stalked forwards, moving until he was nearly pressing Rex against the wall at his back. “Cause they didn’t _program_ shying away from fights into your nature. Wouldn’t be convenient for a soldier.”

“It’s not in my nature,” Rex repeated, ignoring the younger clone. “But no one will be forced to fight. And these,” he held up his removed chip, “These are the republic taking our choice from us, forcing us into what we might choose against someday. Someday soon, possibly.”

“Incredible. You’ve got the fight of a brother, but not a scrap of loyalty in you.”

Rex finally had enough, spinning them around, pinning him to the wall with a forearm. “I am loyal, soldier. I just know who to be loyal to. My general and my commander are out there, and I don’t plan to be fighting on the side they’re against.”

“Loyal to Jedi that aren’t Jedi anymore.” He spat, defiant even while held down. “But not to your brothers. You make me sick, _sir_.”

In one swift motion, Rex took away the pressure of his arm and replaced it with the barrel of his blaster pressing into the skin under the soldier’s jaw. The room was perfectly quiet, perfectly still, as the onlooking soldiers waited to see what would happen, some of them obviously debating whether to intervene or not, trying to see if they’d be able to do anything worthwhile in time.

They were watching him, too. They were trying to see what he would do. Rex knew all of them would know him by reputation, if nothing else. Did they see him as someone worth following? He could not afford to shake any trust, but neither could he afford to let such flimsy challenge go unanswered.

Rex dropped the blaster back down, spun it around his finger by the trigger guard, and shoved it into the cadet’s chest so he’d grab it.

“What’s your name, Cadet?" 

The man’s fingers twisted around the blaster, confused and wary, but he made no move to use it. “CT-7148, sir.”

Painfully young, then. Not even a nickname. Rex turned his back to him, a show of faith, of confidence that the soldier wouldn’t use the weapon against him.

“I know who I am loyal to.” He said again, his voice echoing loudly throughout the large room. “Above all, that is my brothers. That’s why I want to give you all as much opportunity as I can. I am asking you to come with me, to fight for what you actually believe in, not just what you’ve been told to believe. I am asking you to choose whether you fight for something, to choose which something that is, or to leave the battlefield for those who want to be there.

“I am loyal to those who deserve my loyalty. And that man-” he jabbed a hand angrily in the direction they all knew the Senate building to be in. “-in the Chancellor’s office, the man who has ordered us and the Seppies and the Sith around for this entire war, not caring what casualties happened, the man who has his finger on the trigger of something that could take away our choice in _anything_ \-- that man does not have my loyalty.”

Rex turned back to the cadet. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t dropped the blaster to his side, and he eyed Rex with wary consideration. “Come with me and use that for something worthwhile, or come with me and don’t." 

The cadet didn’t react.

“Or stay here and keep it,” He allowed, fingering the chip in his hand, turning it over and over like a talisman. “Because if we’re on different sides of a battle someday, and you’re marching to orders from the Republic, you will need it. I will know which brothers to be loyal to." 

Rex spun, and left the room at a steady pace, not looking back to see the reactions of his brothers. He felt their eyes on his back, felt the weight of silence as they processed his words, and then, as the doors slid shut and left him alone in the corridor, he felt nothing at all.

 

* * *

 

“I hope I don’t see you again.” Rex said, the dark of the evening around them rendering nearly every difference the years had created between him and Cody indistinguishable. “If I do, I imagine it won’t be the best of circumstances.”

“No.” Cody said sharply, voice matching his stiff movements as he watched his two men board the transport. “We will see each other again, when this war is over. When we’re men instead of soldiers.”

“And if I see you before then?”

“I am not fighting for the Chancellor, but I am fighting for the Republic.” He said. “That doesn’t have to mean against you, though. I know you’re fighting for the same thing, in a different way.”

Rex’s chest was tight, and his legs didn’t want to carry him the rest of the way to the ship, where his men were waiting to take off. He didn’t want to leave Cody behind to dive into the fray that they were fleeing from. He didn’t want to think about what might happen if he never saw the other man again. He didn’t want to think about what might happen if he did.

Cody smiled a knowing smile, and thrust his arm out between them. Rex mirrored him more out of reflex than anything, clasping his forearm in a farewell that felt inadequate in the same way that words did.

“If the 212th meets you on the battlefield someday,” Cody said, looking away from Rex to the horizon, and shielding his eyes from the orange glare of sunset. “I guess we’ll just have to suffer losing our reputation for blaster accuracy.”

Rex couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “Until then, Brother.”

“Until then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!!! I am not dead!!! This fic is not abandoned!!!  
> This chapter has honestly been sitting in a doc in fragments for about half a year now, so it's long overdue to be shoved out into the world and see the light of day, regardless of how much or little sense it makes  
> I honestly have no clue when another update will come,,, im trying to force myself to make progress on Diminished Star so.... we'll see?  
> Hope you enjoyed!!


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